~ Adventures in reading, writing, teaching, and life

Category Archives: Teaching Moments

I know it has been awhile since I’ve updated this blog, so I wanted to clearly state that it will be less about travel and more about teaching from now on. =)

I’m working at a middle school in Rhode Island, this awesome charter school that does everything in its power to support students in all aspects of their lives. I’m a literacy coach, which means I teach intervention classes–small groups of students who aren’t at grade level for literacy skills–and also work alongside content teachers to support students as much as possible.

Right now, I have two interventions–one for 6th grade and one for 8th grade. They both meet twice a week for one hour-long class. It’s a decent chunk of time, but the long gaps between meetings doesn’t always help. Lately, I’ve been very frustrated with my 8th grade class. The nature of interventions is tricky–often, intervention students are the ones who act out because they don’t understand, they don’t typically have the most positive attitude about school, and interventions are not graded classes, so there is no extrinsic reward to get your work done and learn what you need to do. I have eight students in my eighth grade class (fitting, hmm?). They are each wonderful people when I work with them individually (during lunch, one-on-one in class, etc.), but when I’m trying to instruct the whole group, they really push the limit.

Some of my struggles are due to lack of confidence–or experience–in terms of classroom management, but they definitely give me a run for my money. Untrackable, repeated farting noises. Incessant humming during quiet writing time. Shouting out (and over each other) during read alouds. Often, the behavior happens all at once, is hard to pinpoint on specific students, and just gets me frustrated. Some days, I was feeling like all I didn’t even have time to teach between redirections.

At the beginning of this week, though, I met with one of the administrators in my building who would be coming for a full-class, announced evaluation–during my eighth grade class. We had our pre-conference about how I was expecting the class to go, what students might struggle with, and the general logistics of my lesson plan. I told her about my struggles with classroom management, and she gave me some really great advice, which boiled down to this: make that class your absolute favorite class, and make sure they know it. In reality, every class should be my favorite class. Her practical suggestions were to celebrate everything–even if they were only being good for five minutes, celebrate it and make a HUGE deal out of how awesome they are. Tell the whole school! Make sure they know that I think they are awesome and that I love not only what they are doing, but that I love them.

My first class with them of the week–the one before she was due to observe–were actually my lesson plans from the Thursday before Valentines Day. We had ended up with a snow day that Thursday, and the following week (last week) was our school’s February break (that’s a thing in New England, apparently). Our scheduled read aloud was sample letters from the book Other People’s Love Letters: 150 Letters You Were Never Meant to See. Their quickwrite following the book was to write a love letter of their own–to a family member, a friend, or a significant other. They didn’t have to deliver it, but they could if they wanted to. Taking the advice of my supervisor in stride, I added something to that lesson: I wrote them love letters, too.

My letters were nothing fancy–two sentences at most. But I found a fun penguin notepad to write them on, and I dug deep to find honest compliments for each of my eight students. They ended up being things like “I love the confidence you have in yourself, the ease with which you laugh, and your work ethic. I’m so glad you are in our group!” or “I love your sincerity, your patience, and your passion (for food or otherwise). I’m glad you are in our class!”

I was a little unsure how they would take them, or if I was taking the advice I had been given too literally, but it worked brilliantly. They weren’t perfect little angels, but I could start to feel the attitude of the class changing. By writing those notes, I showed them that I cared about them as people, and that even if I wasn’t always happy with the way they were behaving, it didn’t mean that I didn’t like them.

I had my observation today, our second class after my decision to love my students, and so far, things are going well. They still spoke out of turn sometimes, or randomly got out of their seats. But they kept the farting noises to the hallway. They raised their hands, sometimes. They did the work I asked without (too much) complaint.

After the lesson, I got an e-mail from a colleague, sharing out with the rest of the staff some “teacher talk” tips he had received from a PD. As I was scanning through them, one in particular stood out to me: “You can’t complain your way to a better relationship with your students.” I don’t know that I was necessarily complaining about my students before, but I was most definitely venting. And while that may have helped me to feel better momentarily, it wasn’t helping my students, my classroom environment, or me in the long run. But making a decision to consciously and loudly love my students? That seems to be making a difference.

I’ve come to the point in my trip where I’ve begun to say goodbye—to people, to places, to foods. The first of the goodbyes was at dinner last night, when Tina and I had our last kebab (döner), a food I first fell in love with during my high school exchange to Berlin five years ago. (I maintain that the ones in Berlin are the best, but I don’t think I’ll ever turn down a good döner kebab.) I’ve been fortunate to have had multiple experiences abroad, and I’ve learned that it’s practically impossible to live abroad—whether it’s for three weeks or twelve—and not be changed by the experience. Marcel Proust said, “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” I think this is true, but there’s something about being removed from all that is familiar that forces you to have those new eyes, to look at even the most everyday things in a new way, and that level of observation and reflection can really shape a person.

One of the things I did this semester more than I’ve done in the past is to travel to other places. In the past, I’ve studied abroad, but I’ve stayed in that base country. These four months, I’ve learned from the culture of hyggae in Denmark, I’ve sung “Sixteen Going on Seventeen” while prancing around the gazebo from The Sound of Music, and I’ve stood in a reconstruction of The Globe, suspended in a state of awe. I’ve sipped wine in the light of a shining Eiffel Tower and hot chocolate in the fjord of Oslo, Norway. I’ve wandered into bookstores, read on trains (and buses and planes), and eaten more delicious foods than I can name. I have been so fortunate in my travels, but I’ve learned that trips aren’t all about checking off those big-ticket items. The Eiffel Tower is great, but maybe there’s a really awesome bookstore you’ll love more. Big cities have their advantages, but maybe you’ll fall in love with a small town just over the border. Museums may display priceless artifacts from the past, but sometimes walking around a city can help you discover the wonder of the present. Ray Bradbury said that “half the fun of travel is the esthetic of lostness.” I do think there’s something valuable about being lost. It comes back to that level of observation, of being outside of your comfort zone, and actively seeking things. When you travel off the beaten path—or maybe just go to unexpected places—you can blaze your own way a bit more. You lose even more of those expectations and just create your own experience. When you’re lost, you try to find your way again. When you travel, you create an experience, because everything is one big adventure.

Speaking of adventures, I think my whole experience this semester—with both travel and teaching—has taught me a lot about the value of being flexible, of making the best of situations, and adapting. I’ve been reading a lot of quotes about travel recently, if you haven’t been able to tell, and I think one by John Steinbeck applies here: “A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.” You can plan, yes, but you don’t control what happens when you travel or when you teach. There are too many other factors, too many other people involved in the process, but that’s what keeps things interesting, that’s what makes each day new and exciting, and that’s what, in the end, makes the whole journey worth it. In my last lesson with my language section today, I had them do oral interpretations (readings) of the poems that we’ve read together this semester. (I also gave them the option of reading a poem they wrote this semester. Two took this option, and I am so proud of them for doing so!) The purpose of the oral interpretations is not only, for them, pronunciation practice, but also a chance to get to know the poem on a different level, because reading a poem out loud for an audience requires a closer analysis, and I wanted them to have that experience. I also thought it would be a nice way for us to end our time together—hearing all of the poems we’ve worked on together, and just enjoying some good poetry. My favorite poem of the class, though, was an unexpected one, something that I had not anticipated and something that I had no control over—they wrote me an ode. We talked about odes (and the differences between odes and elegies) a few weeks ago, so it was something we’ve covered together, and it was perfect—and a perfect example of how, sometimes, the unplanned things are the best parts of the journey.

My 3eA Students

I’ve learned quite a bit about both teaching and myself this semester, which is definitely a good thing, but I’ve also missed a lot of things about being home. At the top of this list is the companionship of the people I know and love, both my family and my friends. I’ve made some really lovely friends here, but being away from everyone hasn’t been easy. Katherine Butler Hathway said, “A person needs at intervals to separate from family and companions and go to new places. One must go without familiars in order to be open to influences, to change.” As hard as being away this semester has been, I agree with her. Being away from everyone you know is just another way of stepping outside of your comfort zone. In one of my classes last year, we talked about Julia Cameron’s idea of an “Artist’s Date,” where you go on a date with yourself in order to refresh your pool of creativity—you go out and just be, observing and noticing new things. I feel like this whole semester has been one big Artist’s Date, a time away from everything and everyone I know, a period of heightened observation, reflection, and learning.

This student teaching experience is far from the experience I would have had in the States, but I am walking (or I guess walking, driving, and flying would be more accurate) away from the experience feeling more prepared for teaching than I was when I arrived. Teaching here has given me the opportunity to meet some incredible people, learn about new cultures, and gain necessary experience in front of the classroom. There are many things that I will miss about Luxembourg and my time here, but I know that I will take them—and the lessons I’ve learned here—with me as I continue on, both in life and in my teaching career. I found a quote (lots of quotes in this post, I know) by Jack Kerouac that applies here: “What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? —it’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” I’ve experienced another part of the world this semester, but now it’s time to say good-bye. I’m not quite sure what my next crazy venture beneath the skies will be, but I’ll start with celebrating Christmas with my family and finishing my undergraduate degree. From there, well, “the skies” is pretty ambiguous—who knows where I’ll end up?

Since I’m not student teaching in the States, there haven’t been any homecoming pep rallies, school dances, or extracurricular activities, but what the Premiere students had today was what I would call a Christmas-themed pep rally. In our school, students choose a section for the last three years, identified as Section A through Section G, each with its own concentration. Section A, for example, is the language section, D is the economics section, and F is the music section. Each section has an average of fifteen students (brought down by the five in the music section…most sections have about twenty students), and today they came together to throw a St. Nicholas’ Day party.

Apparently this is a tradition only at my school, and other schools do not do this, but earlier in the year the Premiere (that’s the last year of school) students formed a committee for the planning of this event, which took place for two hours this morning. Students in the upper three grades are excused from class to either participate in the events or stand by and watch, cheering in their section. At the beginning of the event, each section was announced and paraded in to a song of their choosing, dressed in various holiday-themed outfits (or random outfits…I’m pretty sure I saw a care bear). Each section had one Klees’chen (St. Nicholas), who represented the group for competitions later on. There were angels, Housécker (Black Peter, who leaves switches for the bad children), advent calendars, pieces of candy, and presents, among other costumes. As they made their entrance, they threw candy into the crowd, and soon the floor was littered with candy.

Once the competitions began, it became clear that the classes were calling out a teacher to come join them in the competition. Different teachers obliged, coming forward for three-legged races, walks down the catwalk modeling crazy outfits, and quizzes. Points were accumulated and sections eliminated as the celebration moved on, and there was lots of candy throwing going on—both from the Premiere students into the crowd and from the crowd at each other. I had no idea what was going on half the time, but it was really neat to see the students so united about something, so excited, and being so creative. They are so often quiet and stoic; it was nice to see them prancing around like reindeer and getting excited—makes you realize how excited they can be, if we just give them the chance to do something they are passionate about, or approach something in their own way.

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, but that’s only because I’ve been busier than usual! Last week, one of the other teachers asked me to start helping out with one of her beginning English classes (fifteen-year-olds) on Thursdays, which means I now have at least one class per day four days a week! Aside from planning lessons, grading papers, and having a goodbye dinner for our supervisor this past week, I also managed to do a bit of traveling.

View from the top of a memorial tower in Wiltz

On Saturday, Megan and I took a quick trip to Wilts, which is in the Northwest part of Luxembourg, and far enough away that it gets more mountainous and you almost feel like you are in a different country. On Sunday, I did go to another country, as Kayla, Kit, and I made our way to a little town in Germany called Moselkern. There’s never much open in Europe on Sundays, and especially not in small towns like Moselkern, but our real destination was Burg Eltz, a castle in the countryside beyond Moselkern.

We enjoyed a nice (albeit muddy) hike through the woods and then some fantastic views of the castle. Unfortunately the castle is closed for the season, but Kit’s research informed us that the same family—the original owners—has lived in the castle for thirty-three generations now. A friendly and well-informed man outside the castle (it seemed like he was just a fellow hiker/tourist) filled in the rest of the details:

Burg Eltz

Although it has been in several small battles, Burg Eltz has never been taken. It isn’t built at the highest point, so many people thought they could take the castle from above, but catapults on the outposts stopped attackers from far away and archers from below stopped any that made it past the catapults. Inhabitants of the castle were also able to sneak out back doors into the valley for food and water without their attackers’ knowledge. After eating a nice picnic lunch overlooking the castle, we made the journey back to Moselkern and, eventually, Luxembourg.

In class this week I’ve tackled iambic pentameter and Petrarchan Sonnets (Shakespearean planned for Tuesday) with my 3eA class and the Premiere students finished up To Kill a Mockingbird. I talked to the new class (the beginners) about Thanksgiving, which I think may have taught me more about their culture than they learned about mine. Turkeys have only recently become popular in Luxembourg, and they don’t ever make the whole bird like we do at Thanksgiving. They also don’t know what stuffing is, or sweet potatoes, or pumpkin pie! Learning things like that make me glad to be an American.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, Miami hosted a nice Thanksgiving dinner at the Chateau for all of the students on Wednesday. The dinner took place this week as opposed to next because the MUDEC students have next week off as a part of their program–it’s a study tour week for them–and won’t be in Luxembourg. It was definitely worth the trek out to Differdange for some good turkey, cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes! (There was corn on the cob and an attempt at pumpkin pie as well–as I said, they don’t really make pie here).

The biggest teaching challenge of the week, though, was probably on Tuesday, when Isabelle and I arrived at school to find that Tony, the man who teaches the English Theater class, was at the hospital with his son, who had had an allergic reaction to something he ate. As far as we know the son is okay, but Tony’s absence meant that Isabelle and I were in charge of an acting class! Luckily my time stage managing Theater camp over the summer has given me a few go-to acting games and exercises, so we did our warm up and then jumped in to one of those, but it was a little nerve-wracking at first. I’ll be interested to see what Tony says next week when we tell him what we did!

Overall, it’s been a successful week. It’s hard to believe I only have one month left here! Four months felt like forever when I first arrived, but the weather has gotten colder, a large Christmas tree appeared in front of the train station, and the days continue to fly by, each one filled with its own joys.

Host family update: One of the rabbits had babies, therefore correcting their misconception that she was a boy. We’re hoping that the babies make it in this cold weather!

Luxembourg, the country, could fit inside of Germany one hundred and thirty-eight times with room to spare. At two-thirds the size of Rhode Island, the smallest of the United States, a centralized education system makes sense, but I didn’t realize how few teachers were out there until today, when I had the unique opportunity to attend the fourth annual English Teacher’s Day, which was held in Luxembourg City. Every English teacher in the country was invited to attend, and one hundred and thirty two of us showed up. Granted, not everyone was able to attend, but that number, to my knowledge, is comparable to the English teachers held within one (large) district in the United States! After getting over the initial shock of this realization, I went back to being excited about my Luxembourgish version of the NCTE National Convention (which I unfortunately will not be able to attend this year).

The day started off with a keynote speech from Charles Alderson, a professor at Lancaster University. The title of his talk was “Language Testing and the use of the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages (CEFR)” which, in the most paraphrased sense, was about the importance of knowing how to make tests and doing it right. I haven’t actually seen the CEFR, but whenever the CEFR was mentioned, I mentally substituted “Common Core” because, as far as I can tell, they are both a set of standards. The main difference, however, is that the CEFR is a tool for reflection, a descriptive document that is not in any way used for accountability, while the Common Core is clearly used for the latter. Dr. Alderson talked quite a bit about validity and reliability and everything else that goes into making a good test, but the biggest thing I took away from him was the idea that “nobody writes a good test on their own,” that we all need to work with others and submit tests for peer review.

After a brief coffee break, we jumped into workshops, mine being “Content, Culture, and Critical Thinking in an Era of Global English,” presented by Lindsay Clandfield, one of the authors of a book with a similar title published by MacMillan. He argued that you cannot teach a language without teaching the culture, and that the problem with teaching English is nobody knows which culture to teach. What I liked about his presentation was that he asked teachers to really think about the culture represented in their lessons, something that I think applies to teachers across content areas. We need to think about what types of culture we are portraying, and whose culture we are portraying. For him, it was about appropriately representing culture and making the learning of the language more interesting and accessible for the student, but for me, it was about having a culturally inclusive classroom. The ideas he set forth for accessing culture, though, were applicable across the board: graphic novels, comics, short stories, prompts used from pictures, discussion starters from quotes…all great things that can be modified for a language arts classroom.

English Teacher’s Day was all about the breaks, which was good, I think, because it encouraged teachers to socialize and share their different experiences from each of the workshops (there were several offered during the workshop time slot). After lunch, we had another keynote address, this one presented by Amos Paran of the University of London and titled “The Dilemmas of Teaching and Testing Literature in EFL.” The central dilemma was one that I have been encountering with my cooperating teacher—do we assess for use of English or understanding of literature? We’ve been able to compromise, but trying to assess for multiple things can be pretty tough. Paran’s lecture was one of the most applicable to language arts, as he also described the dilemma of testing for “private appreciation vs. public knowledge,” with private appreciation being the student’s personal connections to the text and public knowledge being more closely aligned with an analysis—the ability to use academic language and talk about what is happening in the text. In the end, the conclusion was really that we need to assess all aspects of literature with assessments that provides a variety of tasks, gives students choice, ensures that criteria are transparent, and minimizes the weighting of language. He went through several different examples of ways to assess understanding, from book reviews for newspapers or writing a “missing” scene/document from the text to drawing a cover or choosing music for the book.

The last workshop was one that originally looked most promising, titled “Teaching Literature,” but turned out to be more of a brainstorm for what to teach rather than ideas for how to teach. The presenters did go through a thematic unit about love vs. fanaticism, however, which was an interesting project, and I liked the idea they brought up of presenting students with texts and art that inspire each other. One example was a painting titled “The Fall of Icarus” contrasted with the original mythology and then with the poem “Icarus by Mobile” by Gareth Owens.

The whole day was a valuable opportunity to learn more about teaching English as a foreign language, gain insight into the Luxembourgish education system, and engage with a professional development community. Where EFL teachers walked away with ideas for teaching the English language, I walked away with a head full of new ideas for writing prompts (exercises that are meant for language use can be given higher expectations and used for creative writing prompts) and literature lessons, a new understanding of the Luxembourgish education system, and, as always, the excitement to continue teaching.

When I think about physical signs that indicate how well a lesson is going, it’s clear that I made mistakes today. My first great flop! I guess it was bound to happen, and I’m sure I will flop again, but I never anticipated feeling so awful about it all, like the students missed an opportunity to learn so much more than they did.

The 2M students are reading a collection of essays by Bill Bryson called Notes from a Big Country. Bryson was born in Iowa, but moved to England in his twenties, and this collection comes from a series of columns he wrote upon returning to the States in the 1990s. He’s pretty critical in most of them, but his writing also involves a good deal of humor, which is what Isabelle wanted me to focus on today, something she informed me of about two hours before the lesson was to begin. Now, a lack of preparation was probably a factor—I needed to know about more than just satire, irony, and hyperbole for a fifty minute lesson—but I think my flop had more to do with a difference in expectations. That and my sudden inability to spell “exaggeration.”

The students had read “Why No one Walks” for homework, a piece describing the relatively extreme pedantic nature of Americans, and one that employs a fair share of hyperbole, irony, and the other assorted terms I had only recently learned. My plan was to ask the students what they thought about the piece, initiating a discussion that would last for a few minutes before asking them to pick specific lines they had found funny, at which point I would proceed to write the appropriate terms on the board. My grand plan continued, then, to introducing additional types of humor—ones that weren’t used in “Why No one Walks,” but were in other essays in the collection. I imagined writing words on the board and students helping me out with definitions, working together to find an appropriate definition that built upon their prior knowledge. At this point, I would introduce their homework and, if we had extra time, we’d start on it together.

What happened was the initial “discussion” turned into a quick three-sentence summary of the essay by one student and the rest of the class nodding in agreement. What happened was two or three students pitied me and contributed two or three “funny” lines, at which point I introduced the appropriate terms, attempted to spell “exaggeration” by starting off e-g-a and then forgetting the second “g” once I had the beginning nailed down. What happened was me talking most of the class time, rambling on about different types of humor and not knowing how much of what I said was understood, and then reading out loud the entire essay they were assigned for homework before doing half of the work in class together because we had so much extra time.

What happened was my first big flop, but what I learned is that a student-centered classroom is not typical for these students. I’ve observed classes before, and I’ve seen how Isabelle does most of the talking, calling on a random student to answer questions periodically, but I didn’t realize until today how prominent this model was for these students. I’m not saying I didn’t flop—even taking this into consideration, I know that I rambled and repeated myself and failed to do the subject justice, never mind the fact that I read an entire essay out loud, going against pretty much everything Dr. Frager ever taught me—but I now know that I’m going to have to model any sort of discussion I want to have in the future and adjust my expectations so that I can provide the proper support.

After class ended, Isabelle’s comment was, “Well, you handled that topic much better than I would have.” When I voiced my concerns about participation, she just said, “Well, this class isn’t one that talks a lot, but they do think a lot.” Part of that was an attempt to comfort me, I think, but her statements also speak to the importance of knowing your students. I’ll have to work on that—and my spelling skills, apparently.

Aside from slowly letting my muscles recover, this week was all about planning. In an effort to make the most of my days off (while still allowing for the chance that I’ll be able to pick up more classes), I’ve been tentatively planning day trips for my Mondays and Thursdays. Ironically, I spent today planning for those days, but I also put in some solid work on my TPA, the assessment that I need to complete, so I think I used my time pretty well.

Tuesdays are typically my busiest days, and this past week was no exception: not only was that the day my supervisor came to visit, that night MUDEC hosted a dinner for the STEP students and their cooperating teachers. It was really nice to meet everyone else’s cooperating teachers—and get a high-quality free meal out of the bargain as well! My supervisor’s visit went pretty well, too. She’s definitely a strong believer in positive reinforcement, although sometimes I wouldn’t mind a few pieces of constructive criticism as well. It was pointed out to me this week, however, that your first year teaching, unless it’s actually in the same district, is rarely the same as your student teaching placement, regardless of location. That was some comfort, especially since I sometimes worry that I’m in a protective bubble with highly motivated and well-disciplined students.

The rest of my week was spent observing classes, prepping my students for our guest

Inside the courtyard of the LCD, my school

speaker’s visit tomorrow (my housemate’s boyfriend is from Australia, and he’s visiting her this week, so he’ll be our guest speaker!), and doing my best to increase comprehension for To Kill a Mockingbird. Isabelle and I did our first round of joint grading on Friday, which was pretty interesting and went against pretty much everything I had ever learned in my assessment classes. It was also a little difficult because while I was looking for good personal connections and a demonstrated use of understanding where poetic devices were concerned, I know Isabelle was also keeping an eye out for their use of English grammar, something that wouldn’t necessarily factor prominently in an assignment like this for me. She may have had some sort of rubric in her head, but I found myself making one up as we went along, because otherwise it seemed like she was arbitrarily assigning points. Okay, maybe not completely arbitrarily—she vocalized a few factors, like how much detail the student went into and how many grammatical mistakes were made, but I never really felt like there was a specific amount of points allotted for any one aspect. Isabelle, is, however, department chair for a reason—she seems to get along really well with her students, they respect her for it, and she knows what she’s talking about in terms of language instruction.

The museum at night

This weekend was pretty calm—I went to a museum on Saturday called the Musee der drei Eicheln, or “museum of the three acorns,” which was about the fortress of Luxembourg and the various expansion projects. They also had a really interesting temporary exhibit about Luxembourgish identity. The exhibit mostly just reported the results of a survey, but the presentation was one of the most interesting I’ve ever seen. Each room of this “house” represented a different aspect of identity: the children’s room values, the bedroom sexuality, the bathroom body image, the living room nationality, and the kitchen language. For example, the kitchen table had various questions from the survey written on it, things like “In which language do you watch TV?” and the answers were reported in percentages of cucumbers, cookies, and coffee rings—a different image for each question, but if, say, 56% of the people answered “French,” then the “French” cookie would be 56% there. Then there was a spice rack holding the answer to “Which languages do you speak?” with different spices for the different languages, and the jars filled up according to the survey results. They also had ongoing surveys for the visitors: At the kitchen counter, there was a stack of plates underneath and then the question, “How many languages have you spoken today?” with the instructions to place a plate next to the appropriate number. I proudly placed mine next to the 2, as I had spoken to the woman at the front desk in German.

On Sunday, Kayla, Natalie and I attempted to visit a German Oktoberfest in Wittlich, but despite my careful research, we were unsuccessful. When the festival website had detailed only special busses coming from other cities, I falsely assumed that public transportation in Wittlich would get us there. When we discovered my mistake, we headed back to Trier in order to find the Oktoberfest there, only to discover that it had already ended. We ended up finding a restaurant with an Oktoberfest special and settled for that, despite the fact that it was far from our initial plans.

Host family adventures continued this week, bringing four new rabbits to the backyard (one still nameless). This encouraged my host dad to have his first ever conversation with me! I typically eat lunch with them if I am home, and after the meal today, Jordy asked if I wanted to meet the new rabbits, and I told him that would be great, as I had yet to meet them. Slyly, my host dad added, “yes, you better meet them today, because we’ll be eating them tomorrow!” I laughed, which seemed to encourage him, and we talked a bit about where the rabbits had come from, how they had gotten a deal the kids wouldn’t let them refuse, and now that had way more rabbits than they ever intended to have. It was delightful, especially when, upon returning to the house later in the day, he greeted me cheerfully—In the past, he only said “Moien” if he’s in the same room, and sometimes not even then.

He was gone, however, when I came back from seeing the rabbits and found Chris

The infamous Chris, pictured here on his tractor

hiding underneath the table in the den where I had left my computer full of plans. I said hello to him and then made my way around the table, back to the computer—and stepped in a puddle of his pee. It appears that they are attempting to potty train him, as he has been sighted wearing underwear instead of the usual diaper, but so far these attempts have been rather unsuccessful. I called for Sophie, who confirmed that it wasn’t water and fetched her mom, who gave me a wipe, apologized and sent Chris upstairs to get cleaned up. I guess I should learn to expect the unexpected with a three-year-old in the house, but he does keep us entertained.

The end of September brought not only my first half marathon but also this realization: a date that once seemed so far away had come—and is now gone! October now greets me with sore muscles and the need to take twice as long going up and down the stairs, but that will ease with time. I’ve learned quite a bit this past week—not only that I can run 13.1 miles, but the importance of modeling while teaching, how much I’ve missed pumpkin foods, and how to cut hair!

The poems my students brought in on Tuesday were absolutely fantastic—they used figurative language, played with the point of view, even used rhyme scheme! In that class, we continued looking at poems this week—Thomas Hardy’s “The Man He Killed,” Robert Frost’s “Not to Keep,” and Maya Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” I hit a stumbling block when some of the students volunteered to read the poems they had written out loud (I love how willing they are!) because I wasn’t sure how to encourage peer responses without leaving dead air where the writer might be left feeling inadequate. This is definitely something I want to work on with them, but also something I need to model—I can’t expect them to know how if I don’t show them first! Overall, though, that class has been absolutely wonderful. Isabelle, my cooperating teacher, shared with me that one of the girls had been talking about me in Luxembourgish and shared that I was good at “making things straightforward and easy to understand,” which made me really happy.

The Premiere students are a little more difficult to work with, but I’m definitely learning things from them, too. We jumped in to To Kill a Mockingbird this week, and I’m slowly realizing how much of a challenge this is for them. In doing so, though, I’m also making it a challenge for myself—challenging myself to think like a lower-level reader and provide the support that they need. I’d like to teach them some reading strategies along the way, but hoping that they won’t be too resistant. They aren’t the most talkative class, and I have a feeling that they know I’m not too much older than them (for some students, only two years older), which doesn’t seem to be helping. To Kill a Mockingbird is a book that I love, though, so I’m eager to share it with them, even if it does take a bit of extra effort in order to explain the cultural aspects of the story.

This week also brought two new classes for me to work with—a 6e class, which is the first year of English, and the English Theater option (elective) class. The 6e students were fun to work with—we had them writing every day skits (ordering food, buying a bus ticket, etc.) and performing them for the class, and it was somewhat comforting to know that, for once, I knew more German than they knew English! Then, of course, I realized that this was their fourth language and German was only my second, but it was still extremely helpful in helping them. The Theater option class is run by an Englishman, and they work towards a production in the Spring. I obviously won’t be around for that, but I’m just around to help out where I can. Isabelle said that the Fulbright student from last year helped out with pronunciation exercises and things like that, so I’m expecting some of the same.

Outside of school, we met with our supervisor and the coordinator for field experiences (like student teaching) this week in order to answer questions about the TPA (our assessment) and just get together to talk about our placements. This was actually the first of two dinners I had this week, the second being a department dinner with the rest of the English teachers, and it was really nice to get to know a few more people rather than just depending on Isabelle all the time. As a result of the dinner, I observed someone else’s class on Friday! They actually had a really interesting discussion about “true love” based on an article they had read which talked about how the very people who made marriage more about love—actors in Hollywood—are the ones who treat marriage more as a business agreement, something to get their names in the papers, etc.

The weekend brought my first ever hair-cutting experience, a pumpkin festival, and, of

course, the half marathon. Kit, one of the other student teachers here, did not want to pay to get his hair cut (or deal with the language barriers), so he enlisted Kayla, Tina, and I to help him out. We tag-teamed the whole ordeal and managed to get the job done without anything too horrendous happening (and the hair cut looks okay, too!). We also visited the Chocolate House (chocolate on a spoon that you mix in to warm milk) and went to the pumpkin festival (Kurbiswochenende) near Mersch, which satisfied my cravings for pumpkin food (pumpkin bread, éclairs, soup, champaign…), even if it wasn’t quite as good as pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.

After the race!

The half marathon itself went well, too! The most I had run before was 11 miles at cross country practice in high school (and ten while training here), so I wasn’t quite sure how it was going to go. I was fortunate enough to befriend a man who was running about the same pace as me (he must have been in his sixties), because going at it alone was pretty rough at times. We ended up running together for about nine of the 13 miles, and I even met his granddaughter after the race! The race was called the “Route du Vin,” which I’m pretty sure translates to “path of wine” or something like that, because it runs all through the wine country along the Moselle River between Luxembourg and Germany (we also received a bottle of wine with our registration). It was an out-and-back route, so on the way out, the vinyards were on my left and the river on my right, and then it was the opposite on the way back. Aside from beautiful views, there were also people all along the route, cheering us on with glasses of wine in their hands. Some people went all out, pulling out armchairs and settling in! We had beautiful weather, though, and finishing felt really good! The first thing they handed me after finishing (after my medal), was a cup of alcohol-free beer. It didn’t make much sense to me, but I needed something, so I drank it! In all honesty, though, I think the sugar helped, and I found some water and apples after that.

This week brings a visit from my supervisor, dinner at the Chateau with our cooperating teachers, and more adventures in student teaching! I can’t wait.

The first few days of school are over, I have a few lessons under my belt, and I’m looking forward to our first full week! Technically I don’t actually have a full week, but this will be the first week where school is in session all week long. The reason I don’t have a full week is because teachers here operate more like college professors do in the States—classes meet two or three times a week, and teachers only report to the building when they have classes to teach. My cooperating teacher is working on finding me a few more classes to work with in order to fill out my schedule a bit, but right now I have Mondays off, therefore not quite a full week of class.

Aside from the different scheduling, the biggest difference in terms of how the school day operates between Luxembourg schools and American schools is that Luxembourgish students are the ones that stay in the same room. I mentioned before that students at the Lycee are working towards university. For their last three years at the Lycee, they choose a sort of mini-major—a track that concentrates on something specific, like languages or multi-media or the sciences. The students within this mini-major (they have assigned letters) in the same year then have all of their classes together for the next three years, so they get to know each other pretty well! Teachers also tend to follow these students through, so jumping in to this community for a few months is a bit of a challenge. There was absolutely no need to establish rules, or introduce people, or do any of those normal first days of school things. I’ve already shown my cultural differences by telling students that I need to collect their papers “before you leave.” I then had to explain to them that students are the ones who change rooms in the States rather than the teachers, and they all kind of looked at me a little funny.

Right now, I have three classes that I’m working with, and my host teacher has been really great in letting me jump right in! Wednesday was my first official day, but we just planned in the morning and then had one class in the afternoon. I helped plan the lesson (we read Emma Lazarus’ “The New Colossus” because they read an editorial involving the Statue of Liberty the next day), but mostly just observed that first day. On Friday, though, I taught two lessons!

My first lesson was with the Premiere class, so this is their last year before graduating. We’re reading To Kill a Mockingbird with this class, so Isabelle (my cooperating teacher) and I decided it would be nice if we gave them some historical context for the book. I put together a powerpoint with pictures to prompt discussion about segregation, the Great Depression, and the Civil Rights Movement, hoping to get some discussion out of them and at the same time get an idea of how much they already knew about the South and how much we were going to have to learn as we worked through the book. One of the first things I had them do was to work with a partner and come up with five things they knew about the American South. I wasn’t expecting them to know tons—maybe an event that took place there, or something about the food or the accent or anything, really. What I learned is that one student knew about the existence of the Confederate flag (but not really what it was for) and everyone else’s knowledge was limited to the song “Sweet Home Alabama.” We have a lot to learn!

My second lesson was with the 3e Class, so they have three years left before graduation, the age equivalent of an American high school junior. Isabelle and I had decided that we want to work with them on poetry this semester, doing a poem each day in addition to the other literature we read, so we’re dedicating the first few lessons here to an introduction to poetry. We started off with Shel Silverstein’s “Messy Room,” which they seemed to enjoy. We were going for something that wasn’t too intimidating but still allowed us to talk about a few poetic devices, and it seemed to go over pretty well. I learned that, for some of them, this was the first poem they’d ever read in English!

I’m really excited to work with both of these classes (I haven’t worked directly with the third class yet), especially if I’m able to give them some reading strategies and a chance to write creatively! Because things here are so language-focused, I don’t think they really have a chance to just write for the sake of writing—it’s always to work on a language skill. I know that they’ll be working on their English when they write for me, too, but I want to give them a chance to be creative with it! Tuesday will bring in a batch of poems about rooms, and I can’t wait to read them!

Since tomorrow is my first day of school, I’ve been researching the Luxembourgish school system in order to get a better idea of where my students are coming from, particularly in terms of educational background. Along the way I’ve discovered some central elements of the Luxembourgish culture and learned enough to know that this will definitely be an interesting semester.

Since the first day of school is tomorrow, September 19th, you may have figured out by now that the Luxembourg schools operate on a different calendar than American schools. Schools here have trimesters, the first of which begins here in September and goes until December. The second begins in January and goes until April, and the third begins in April and goes until July (roughly). With the timing of our American semesters, I’ll be here for most, but not quite all, of the first trimester.

The second major difference between the American and Luxembourgish school systems would be the age of the students and the numbering of the grades. In the States, middle school is grades 6-8, and the students are roughly eleven to fourteen years of age. High school, then, is grades 9-12 and ends when most students are eighteen. Of course, there are exceptions to these rules in terms of student age, but for most people that’s how the system works. In Luxembourg, the older students are in what we would translate to be grades 7-1, counting down the years until university/gra duation as the students get older. “First graders,” or the “Premiere” students, are also nineteen rather than eighteen, which means I’ll be two short years (well, almost three) older than my oldest students. However, they don’t need to know that!

As a teacher of English, one of the important things for me to know is how familiar my students will be with the language, and it turns out that English is one of the few language Luxembourgish students learn as a truly foreign language. Unless enrolled in a private or charter school using unique methods (or an ELL program), American students receive their instruction in English. Luxembourgish students, whose native language is Luxembourgish (yes, that is a language—it’s a combination of old French and low German) receive the majority of their instruction in either French or German. The youngest students receive support in Luxembourgish, but once students reach primary school, instruction is in either French or German. Which language used is dictated by the Ministry, as the Luxembourgish Education system is highly centralized. When you think about the fact that the entire country of Luxembourg is about two thirds the size of Rhode Island, the United States’ smallest state, the centralization of the education system makes quite a bit of sense, but a central agency dictating the language of instruction for an entire country is still a bit, well, foreign. Learning English comes into play somewhere around sixth grade, and students are generally introduced to the language in an immersion program, but it is a foreign language for them, not one that they learn and use from primary school on up. There was a push several years back to allow students to choose between German language instruction or French language instruction in an attempt to make school easier for immigrant children (imagine trying to learn not only the native language of the country you move to, but also two different instructional languages for school), but Luxembourg decided to keep both languages as mandatory in an effort to preserve the trilingual unity across the country. Luxembourg is proud that, unlike Belgium and some other countries, the entire country speaks one language—there is no German section and French section—and this was the main reason for keeping instructional practices the way they are.

Language of instruction aside, Luxembourgish students also progress through school differently than American students do. Luxembourgers are only required to be in school from age four to age fifteen. Optional school on either end exists, of course, but the compulsory school ends at age fifteen. Describing the school system with words alone can get rather confusing, so I took the liberty of making a little drawing in order to clarify the different paths students can take.

As you can see, the crucial point comes at the age of twelve, when students and parents and teachers must decide, together, which path the student will take. Transferring from one path to another is possible, of course, but not necessarily easy. Until 1996, a test was taken in order to determine school path, so a conference involving so many people is definitely a more reasonable option! Academic difficulty between the general post-compulsory secondary school and the vocational/technical secondary schools are the same, the main difference being more of a focus on learning English for the University-bound students and the opportunity for apprenticeship in the later stages of the vocational/technical school students.

I am teaching at a Lycee, which is for students working towards attending University. I’m still trying to figure out how familiar my students are with the English language (this will probably depend on their grade, and I’m not yet sure which grades I’ll be working with) as well as American, British, Australian, and Canadian culture. The cultural knowledge will be necessary both for understanding the texts we read (To Kill a Mockingbird will only make so much sense if you don’t have an understanding of the post-Civil War South and our legal system, for example), but also for their cultural knowledge as they learn the language spoken in these countries. I’ve already learned that jury by trial and the death penalty have long been outlawed in Luxembourg, so I’m sure reading To Kill a Mockingbird will bring about some interesting literary and cultural discussions!